


please could I be selfish with your body

by cupcakeb



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Lu and Guzmán meet in their late 20s, but I promise it’s a fun ride, explicit ish sex scenes, look there is no way for me to properly tag this without giving away major plot points
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakeb/pseuds/cupcakeb
Summary: He’s twenty-six. She’s thirty, but she stopped answering questions about her age truthfully when she turned twenty-eight, so he probably doesn’t know that. It doesn’t really matter. They’re both single, consenting adults having fun.Of course she's wondered why he never stays the night. She decided early on in their little arrangement to chalk it up to fear of commitment and not pay it any mind from there on out. Unfortunately, she can't avoid the subject forever.
Relationships: Lucrecia "Lu" Montesinos Hendrich/Guzmán Nunier Osuna, mentions of Guzmán/Nadia
Comments: 15
Kudos: 47





	please could I be selfish with your body

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling her closer to him, and she’s inclined to agree. Fuck, he feels so good under her like this,  inside her like this. “Lu.”  
  
She also really, really loves when he’s close and breathes out her name. It always sounds a little bit like a prayer, as if he's worshipping her, and it gets her to clench around him every single time. She’s not gonna overthink it; all she knows is she really enjoys being with him like this.  
  
He must be as close as she is because he turns them around, pushes her into the mattress with purpose as he speeds up his movements and slips a hand between them to flick at her clit, all the while whispering little bits of praise in her ear. Every little thing he does to her drives her fucking insane. This is why she can’t just stop doing this, why she keeps letting him come over in the middle of the day, why she will move meetings just to spend an extra hour with him when it’s convenient for him.  
  
She’s just not ready to give him up yet.  
  
He bites down on her collarbone right as he hits a spot deep inside of her and she thinks she hears herself scream, instantly coming undone around him. He pulls himself up to grin at her — playful and delighted and smug at once, then goes back to the task at hand as he fucks her through her orgasm.  
  
The way he’s so attentive and diligent when it comes to pleasure is one of her favorite things about him. Now, he pulls out, making her whine his name at the loss of friction, and her fingers instantly dig into his shoulder blades. But he’s a man on a mission, just kisses his way down her body until he reaches the apex of her thighs, getting her off again with his mouth. She’s right in the middle of her second orgasm when he enters her again, making her back bow off the mattress as she screams out his name, and then he finally lets go too.  
  
Her heart is racing in her ears when she looks over at him next to her, lounging on his side, not the least bit shy about how very naked he is. He’s smirking at her, and honestly, if he gives her a minute she definitely wouldn’t mind another orgasm.  


Sometimes she feels like an insatiable teenager around him — he brings out that side of her.  
  
The smirk on his lips sort of fades, and he sits up to find his clothes. Of course he told her he can’t stay the night when he got here and she’s okay with that, but that doesn’t mean it’s fun to watch him get dressed before her heart rate has even calmed down.  
  
She pouts up at him, moving to the edge of the bed so she’s right in front of him. “Do you have to go?”  
  
He kisses her, tells her he’ll call, and takes off for the door before she has a chance to object.

**  
  
They met at work. It was her father who introduced them — she still sometimes cringes at the thought of him ever finding out about all of this. She’s pretty sure the great Felipe Montesinos wouldn’t approve, and she likes their working relationship a little too much to risk ruining it over something as trivial as this.  
  
He’s some young hotshot lawyer the embassy hired to deal with a few particularly tricky legal issues they’re facing, so they don’t technically work _together_ , which makes this okay.  
  
The first time she met him, he was wearing an expensive grey suit, in conversation with her dad across the board room, and she’d excused herself from her conversation with one of the other associates to follow her father’s beckoning wave.  
  
“Lucrecia, I’d like you to meet our new legal advisor,” her father had said, giving the mysterious stranger an approving once over. “This is Guzmán Nunier, you’ll be seeing him around.”  
  
It took more focus than she’d like to admit to not just tell him she wouldn’t mind seeing… more of him in general. She rarely finds herself undressing men with her eyes, but with him it was kind of instant — she needed to know what he was hiding under that well-ironed suit.  
  
He’s twenty-six. She’s thirty, but she stopped answering questions about her age truthfully when she turned twenty-eight, so he probably doesn’t know that. It doesn’t really matter. They’re both single, consenting adults having fun.  
  
When he took her upstairs to the office rooftop for a drink that first day, it didn’t take either of them very long to acknowledge that they’d like to see each other naked. He’d just boldly put a hand on her neck, squeezed tight enough to take her breath away a little, and she was left gasping before he even managed to utter, “Is this okay?”  
  
It was more than just okay. That’s probably why this is still going on.  
  
It’s just sex. She likes him — his easy to keep company, his stupid youthful grin, his body ( _God_ , his body…) and she doesn’t really care that he’s younger than her. He works horrible hours, but so does she, and it’s not like she’s even in the market for anything serious. She has no idea how hard-working adults have time for real relationships when she can barely find the time to have hot, passionate sex with her sort-of co-worker.  
  
The fact that he tends to take off right after sex isn’t lost on her, and she hasn’t bothered asking him about it. She knows he lives pretty far outside of the city — he said something about staying close to his parents, which she thinks is oddly sweet — and if his workload is anything like hers, he probably spends his weekday evenings drowning in all the emails he didn’t get to during the day.  
  
“Just sleep here,” she says to him one night, when she’s still on top of him, her thighs quivering with the aftershocks of her orgasm. He’s still pulsing inside her, and she absolutely hates the idea of not getting to sleep next to him. She’s too much of a relationship person deep down to constantly miss out on post-coital cuddling.  
  
“I can’t,” he says, grin effortless as ever, and she moves her hips to elicit a groan from him. He’s chuckling and playing with her nipples when he says, “That’s not gonna make me stay, Lu.”  
  
Ugh, fine. She sighs and pushes at his chest a little, finally leaning in for a kiss. She knows that’s her best bet to get him to stay a little longer — he’s really, really into kissing.  
  
They get a little carried away, and she sees him glancing at his (beautiful, timeless) Cartier watch on the nightstand between kisses. She grabs his chin roughly because he better pay attention to her and _only_ her when she’s naked and on top of him. Whatever work he needs to get home to can wait.  
  
She doesn’t tell him what she wants him to do, but he must know her pretty well by now. He turns them around, slipping from her body, and when he leans in to kiss her again she whimpers, then moves her hands up into his hair to push him down a little. He gets the hint, pulls away from the kiss to chuckle smugly, then kisses a path down her neck, past her breasts and stomach only to finally use every trick in the book to get her to fall apart on his tongue. 

He’s really, really good with his mouth. She doesn’t want to undermine his professional ambitions when she says, “God, you should charge for that.” 

Guzmán wipes his wet chin on her breast jokingly as he comes back to hover over her, flashing her his staple grin. “Are you saying I should be a prostitute?” 

“Maybe a gigolo,” she muses, running a hand through his hair teasingly. “I’d be your most loyal customer.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I ever get tired of law,” he says, stepping into his boxers, clearly getting ready to leave. 

Lu sighs. Using sex to distract him from leaving only ever delays the inevitable. He kisses her goodbye at the door and she has no idea when she’ll see him next. He’s not at the office every day, and sometimes he goes several days without texting her which isn’t ideal. She likes a little mystery and intrigue, but sometimes she longs for a more predictable relationship. 

This isn’t that and that’s fine, too. Everything doesn’t always have to be serious and profound and true love’s kiss worthy Disney-style romance. She isn’t Carla, who’s been married to her high school sweetheart for three years, or Valerio, who somehow fell into a stable, adult relationship without really trying. 

She texts Guzmán a picture of herself in bed, wearing one of his shirts that he left here a few weeks ago, and tries not to feel too disappointed when he doesn’t reply. 

**  
  
“Oh— Sorry,” she stops in her tracks, clutching the bag of takeout in her hands and leans back against her father’s office door. If she’d known he had someone in here, she would’ve knocked. “I wasn’t aware you were in a meeting.”  
  
Guzmán is sat across from her dad, a large binder in hand, grinning at her in what most outsiders would probably deem a perfectly innocent way. She knows better.  
  
“Hi sweetie,” her father smiles a little. He looks at the bag in her hand, asks, “Is that my lunch?” She nods. Her father gestures to the man in front of him. “You remember Guzmán, right?”  
  
Her smile is practiced and polite. “Of course. How are you?”  
  
“Just about to dive into an afternoon’s worth of paperwork,” he says. She walks into the room and sets the bag of food down on her dad’s desk, then turns to nod at Guzmán. “Are you staying for lunch? I’m just about to head out, don’t let me interrupt.”  
  
He is such a good actor. Acting like he isn’t totally hoping she’ll follow him out. How adorable.  
  
“Oh no, I can’t,” she says, smiling apologetically at her dad. “I actually have a session booked at the gym before my next meeting.”  
  
Her father shakes his head and laughs, addressing Guzmán. “She’s the hardest worker I know. Never has any time for fun, or even lunch.” He gives her a pointed look, and she throws her hands up in defeat — guilty as charged. She doesn’t believe in breaks unless they involve sneaking off for a few stress relief orgasms.  
  
The two men get up, and Guzmán shakes her father’s hand in that professional, manly way — god, she hates toxic masculinity.  
  
“Thanks for lunch, darling,” her father tells her and she glances back at him and smiles. She’s pretty sure if she didn’t bring him food, he’d never bother to eat throughout the day. She throws a general goodbye at both of them, then walks out of her dad’s office and towards the elevator.  
  
Guzmán is at her side about half a minute later, an appropriate distance away from her, and the second the elevator doors close behind them, he’s got her pinned against the wall, his lips on hers.  
  
“So you don’t have time for fun, huh?”  
  
She giggles, pulls away from him and shakes her head. “Never.”  
  
“What would your dad say if he saw you like this,” he alludes, glancing at her, her blouse already falling off her shoulder and her hair probably messed up from the way he’s been running his hands through it. “He has no idea how bad you are.”  
  
The elevator doors open and they step outside, then walk out of the building and into the busy Madrid streets. She can’t touch him the way she wants to, not out here where someone they work with could walk by, so she just looks at him and smirks when she says, “Want to spend the day with me?”  
  
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, but she already knows he’s not gonna turn her down. He never turns her down.  
  
Then he’s waving down a cab for them, ushering her inside and pulling her into his side, so that’s a yes.  
  
“I’ll have to get back home in time for dinner,” he says, and she nods. It’s barely two in the afternoon — that’s doable.  
  
She smirks, then leans in to whisper in his ear. “Think you can make me come before then?”  
  
Honestly, she mostly does it because she knows he gets super pissed when she doubts his abilities in the bedroom. She’s confident he’ll be able to get her off multiple times until he has to leave.  
  
He gets downright aggressive with her the second they’re inside her apartment, grabbing at her roughly and tearing her clothes off before he practically throws her down on the bed. Yeah, she loves this. The sex. Not him, of course. It’s not like that.  
  
She loves the smug grin on his face when he makes her scream his name over and over again until she apologizes for doubting his sexual prowess.  
  
**  
  
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted,” he says, letting out a sigh as he takes a bite of his noodles. They’re in her kitchen, and he brought over Chinese food, which it has taken him actual _years_ to finish. She gives him a prompting look — she totally fine with him telling her about whatever is bothering him. “Work stuff.” 

She runs a hand over his arm, then grabs his hand to smile at him. “What are you stressing about?” 

He twirls some more noodles around his fork — she’s been making fun of him for not knowing how to use chopsticks every time they get Asian takeout — then reaches over and pops a spring roll in his mouth. “There’s a filing deadline with the municipality on Friday,” that’s still two days away, not that she has any idea what he’s talking about. She can barely keep up with whatever work he’s doing for the embassy; she’s not gonna ask. “I’ve been waiting for clarification from the city prosecutor and I’m not sure I’ll get it done before then.”

She figures distracting him is probably the best way to handle this. She’s teasing, mostly, when she says, “And now you’re wasting most of your afternoon with me.”  


He looks up to grin at her. “And my evening, too, I hope.” 

Normally, she’d feign offense at him suggesting time spent with her is a waste, but he looks sincere, like he actually hopes she’ll let him hang around all evening. It’s kind of… cute. 

“I’m sure you’ll get it done tomorrow,” she tells him, an encouraging smile on her face. He sighs, then nods and looks at her with so much love and affection in his eyes, she feels a little giddy. 

**

“So are you still seeing that guy?” Carla sips from a glass of white wine and scrunches up her nose at the taste. It’s amusing — taking over the wineries has turned her into such a wine snob. “The child, I mean.” 

“He’s twenty-six,” Lu scolds, vodka soda in hand. “He’s hardly a child.” 

“Defensive, so you _are_ still seeing him then,” she grins, leaning forward in her chair. Why is her best friend always so hungry for drama? Married life must be incredibly dull. They’re at a restaurant near Carla’s apartment, hiding from the July heat in the air-conditioned indoor area. “What’s he like?” 

Lu takes a minute to think about that. It’s hard to explain his personality to someone who’s never met him. “He’s... ambitious,” she starts, and Carla rolls her eyes and motions for her to go on. Yeah, Lu has a history of going for ambitious men. “Kind of smug, and he definitely has a classist streak, though he hides it well.” 

The blonde laughs. “Sounds like your type.” 

She’d agree, except, “He has these very genuine moments where he’s just the sweetest guy I’ve ever known,” which is very much not her type at all. She doesn’t normally date nice guys, not even the ones who mask it with passive-aggressiveness. 

“Have you asked him why he’s afraid of commitment yet?” 

Lu sighs. She really needs to stop getting drunk and telling Carla about these things — they’ll only come back to bite her in the ass later. She takes a large sip of her drink and shakes her head. 

“Oh, Lu,” Carla says, and she loathes the pitying tone. She knows the blonde means well but all it does is come off patronizing. “Don’t get too attached.” 

It’s probably too late for that, so she shrugs, orders another drink and changes the subject. 

**  
She’s pretty sure the look on her face gives away her complete surprise when he comes back from the bathroom only wearing briefs and plops back down next to her. He never does that. This is the part when he leaves. 

It seems like he isn’t, though. He pulls her close, puts an arm around her and lets out a contented sigh.  


She’s naked, still breathing hard, and she has to consciously force herself not to smile too big when she looks up at him and says, “You’re staying?” 

“Do you mind?” She can hear the cocky grin in his voice, doesn’t even have to look up to know it’s there.   
  
That catches her off guard. She doesn’t mean to sound like a lovestruck, hopeful teenager when she turns around to grin at him and asks, “Can you?” 

He nods, then kisses her hair and she buries her head against his chest.  
  
“Do you wanna watch a movie and cuddle in bed?”  
  
God, he’s so obviously afraid of commitment, clearly trying hard to sound casual when he suggests cuddling as an activity. It’s pretty cute. She smiles at him, at the handsome eligible bachelor in her bed, and kisses his neck a little. “That sounds great.”  
  
She puts on a matching set of pajamas because she doesn’t actually like to sleep naked, then comes back with two glasses of wine and some almonds for a snack and hands him the remote so he can pick a movie to watch on Netflix.  
  
He calls her adorable and she blushes as she wonders if this is a step in the right direction.  
  
**  
  
He stays with her all weekend, even takes her out for dinner on Saturday and she tries really, really hard not to read into it. But he spends two nights in her bed, stays up late with her trading kisses and stories and secrets, and that has to mean something, right? That has to be his way of showing that this isn’t just about sex anymore.  
  
They don’t just talk. He also takes his time making her come apart in every conceivable way. Of course, he’s always a rather generous lover, but this is on another level; it’s like he’s finally getting comfortable around her and rewarding her with _even more_ orgasms.  
  
At two in the morning on Saturday night, she’s just about to drift off when she feels his hand brushing up and down her spine.  
  
“Guzmán,” she whispers, and he kisses her hair in response, makes a quiet sound to acknowledge he’s heard her. “What if I get used to having you in my bed and start missing you when you can’t stay?”  
  
He doesn’t reply, just pulls her closer and whispers, “Go to sleep, Lu.”  
  
**  
  
He texts her one day out of the blue, and she tells him she’s working from home, in between calls with Mexico, so she’ll probably work late because of the time difference. It’s one of the most unglamorous perks of working in diplomatic circles.  
  
When he shows up at her door twenty minutes later anyway, looking handsome in a simple white button-down and beige pants, she answers the door and pecks him on the lips, motioning to her headphones — she’s on a call.  
  
He quietly sits down on her sofa, seems to be reading through some sort of brief, but she keeps catching him looking at her, probably because she’s looking at him, too. He just looks really, really good today and she’s having trouble focusing on the discussion happening on this stupid call she’s on.  
  
When her meeting ends, she walks over to him and sits down in his lap. She doesn’t mean to get carried away, but he slips his hand in her hair and kisses her, then pulls away and presses a kiss to her forehead as he breathes her in, like he missed her or something. It’s oddly sweet.  
  
“I really have to work,” she says. It sucks because she can think of a ton of things she’d rather be doing, now that he’s here. “My next call is in ten minutes.”  
  
“I know, I know,” his hands slide down to her hips, then under her shirt to cover her breasts. “I just really wanted to see you.”  
  
Oh my god. She practically _swoons_. Instant butterflies; he sounds so sincere when he says it, and she’s already thinking of excuses for missing this call.  
  
She leans in to kiss him, then sends a quick text to her father’s assistant asking her whether she can join this diplomatic service update call in her place and take a brief, and she doesn’t care in the slightest that it’s a little last-minute and probably a tad unprofessional.  
  
“Tell me more about how much you miss me when I’m not around,” she tells him, then undoes the top buttons on his shirt.  
  
**  
  
It’s slightly concerning how she sometimes tries to get ahold of him and can’t; she’ll call and he won’t pick up, or she’ll text and all he’ll say is _sry, busy rn_ which always makes her feel a little foolish and clingy. She understands that he has a ton going on with work and whatnot, but that doesn’t mean he has to be short with her. Texting etiquette is important to her; she’d never use stupid lingo when talking to someone she cares about. Those people are worth taking the extra second to spell out ‘sorry’ in its entirety.  
  
He’ll usually call her back when he doesn’t manage to answer her calls or texts, and he always sounds cheerful and apologetic and charming enough for her to let it go, but it bothers her.  
  
Maybe she should insist on making this a mutually exclusive agreement at least. She’s not sleeping with anyone else, and she doubts he is either — they should probably have that conversation.  
  
**  
  
She doesn’t call Carla when she realizes her period is three weeks late. Carla would offer rational advice and comfort her, and definitely wouldn’t say anything judgmental, but Lu knows Carla has been seeking out advice from fertility clinics for over a year now — it would be downright evil to confront her with the possibility that someone else just got pregnant by chance and now probably doesn’t even _want_ the baby.  
  
Instead, she texts Rebeka.  
  
They’re not super close, but she knows the girl won’t judge her; she seems like she’d be good in a crisis. Anyone who’s capable of dating Valerio, of all people, is probably great in dealing with other people’s messes.  
  
Rebeka’s at her door thirty minutes after her emergency text. “I brought supplies,” she says, holding up two cups of coffee in one hand, a drug store branded bag in the other. Great. At least Lu won’t have to go through the public humiliation of having to buy her own pregnancy test.  
  
This next part feels so cliché — she pees on a stick, then puts it down on the bathroom counter and tries hard not to look at it until the timer on her phone goes off.  
  
“I can’t,” she tells Rebeka when the timer rings, and the girl sighs and nods, taking a step towards the sink to peek at the test.  
  
Her face is unreadable, and the suspense is absolutely killing her. She’s pretty sure she’s gonna puke any second, whether she’s pregnant or not.  
  
“Two lines,” Rebe says, and Lu instantly knows. “That means…”  
  
“I know what it means,” she snaps, suddenly angry. She can’t help the sudden burst of aggression, and she can tell Rebeka understands. She sits down at the edge of the bathtub next to Lu, puts an arm around her and doesn’t say anything when she starts sobbing into her hands.  
  
“Lu,” Rebeka tries, and she’s too upset to be angry, too scared to put on a show and act like her usual snappy self. She looks at the girl next to her and takes a deep breath, trying hard to control the tears running down her face. She _hates_ crying in front of other people. “What are you gonna do?”  
  
Her upper lip quivers, and then she’s crying again, burying her face against Rebeka’s neck.  
  
She has no idea what she’s gonna do.  
  
**  


“Please just say something,” she pleads, avoids eye contact as she tries hard not to cry. This is… The worst conversation she’s ever had to have with anyone. Worse than when their puppy got run over by a truck, and she witnessed the whole thing and had to tell Valerio when he got home from school.  
  
“Fuck,” he says, his hand pushing some hair off his forehead. “You said you’re on the pill.”  
  
That’s not the answer she expected. That’s not good enough. She feels the sudden urge to slap him.  
  
“That’s all you have to say? Really? Wow,” she doesn’t appreciate the insinuation that she was lying about being on birth control. She’s sitting next to him on the couch, their legs brushing and she suddenly wants to move, wants to stop touching him. “Of course I am. That doesn’t change the reality of the situation.”  
  
“Sorry, I just… Shit,” he looks panicked, and she gets that — she’s been in a non-stop state of panic for the past three days, ever since she found out. “Lu, I can’t, I… I don’t know what to say.”  
  
She’d probably be a little more upset with him if she hadn’t already made an appointment to talk to her gynecologist about her options. There’s no way in hell she’s having this child, especially when the father-to-be can’t even show an ounce of sympathy.  
  
That doesn’t mean she isn’t pissed. “You could try to reassure me, maybe — tell me it’ll all work out, or I don’t know, even just act like this might inconvenience both of us, not just _you_.”  
  
“You don’t understand.”  
  
No, she doesn’t. He could at least pretend to care a little. “Please enlighten me. What could possibly cause you to act like a selfish dick right now when it’s my body and my career on the line?”  
  
She laughs meanly when he sighs like this is somehow harder for him than it is for her. Fucking drama queen. He turns to her, looks her in the eye, then says, “I’m married.”  
  
There is no conceivable way she could’ve anticipated that answer.  
  
She can’t breathe. There are tears in her eyes and a painful sort of nausea settles in her stomach, the kind of nausea that’s entirely unrelated to the small clump of cells unfortunately taking up residence in her uterus. This cannot be happening.  
  
It must look dramatic, how she jumps to her feet and runs to the kitchen sink, puking her guts out the second she gets there. He comes over to gently rub her shoulder and she shakes off his hand roughly, wiping her mouth on a tea towel. “Do not fucking touch me.”  
  
“At least let me explain,” he begs, and he looks upset too, which she doesn’t think he has any right to be. He knowingly cheated; she’s the one being blindsided by all of this. “We… My wife and I,” he takes a deep breath. God, she can’t fucking stand here and listen to this right now. She literally can’t. His _wife_. He has a wife. He has been cheating on his wife with her for the past three months. She’s gonna be sick again.  
  
Taking a step back, she glares at him, channels all of her anger into it. “Get the fuck out of here.”  
  
His arm goes out to reach for her and she takes another step back, now safely out of his reach. “Get out before I fucking strangle you.”  
  
He gives her this pleading look, and he looks sort of heartbroken, but she doesn’t care. She keeps her eyes on him, her glare unwavering, and he finally backs away, picks up his briefcase and heads for the door.  
  
When she hears it close behind him, she calmly reaches for a glass, then fills it with water and gulps down the whole thing.  
  
It’s fine. This is fine. She made a mistake, but there are ways of medical intervention to rectify that. She never has to see him again.  
  
He texts her on and off all day, and she leaves him on read as she busies herself with crying and feeling sorry for herself. When he finally texts _it’s not what you think_ , she turns off her phone and vows to never speak to him again.  
  
**  
  
“Is the father aware of your wish to terminate this pregnancy?”  
  
Lu looks up at the fucking psychologist the gynecologist referred her to for counseling and almost laughs. She just barely stops herself; it’s probably important she doesn’t come across as deranged and unstable.  
  
“He isn’t in the picture,” she says, trying to maintain eye contact. People who make eye contact don’t lie. “But yes, I have informed him of my intentions.”  
  
She hasn’t actually spoken to Guzmán since their confrontation three days ago, but that hardly matters. Her body, her choice.  
  
“Very well. I’m going to need you to sign that you have been informed of all the risks and consequences a medical abortion could have, and then there’s a mandatory 48-hour waiting period,”  right, because women can’t be trusted to not just make rash, emotional decisions about their bodies. This entire process has made her painfully aware of how very fucked up the patriarchal society she lives in is. Do male legislators actually think women carelessly pop abortion pills like tic tacs? “And then you can give the clinic a call to come in and take the medication under strict supervision.”  
  
She thanks the woman, then picks up all the stupid leaflets she’s being forced to take home and leaves the room.  
  
It’s not that she doesn’t think this is a difficult decision; it’s just not difficult for _her_. It’s the only thing that makes sense, considering the circumstances.  
  
She’s taken the day off work for the appointment, told her father something about feeling a little under the weather, and she looks forward to spending it in bed watching terrible reality TV to feel better about the total fucking mess her life has become.  
  
**  
  
Guzmán is outside of her building when she gets home. She instantly spots him when she turns the corner, and he sees her coming, runs a hand through his hair like he’s nervous. All she does is shake her head at him — there is no way this conversation is happening. Not today.  
  
“Get out of my way,” she says when he blocks her from unlocking the door. “Guzmán, I swear to god, I will not hesitate to call the police if you don’t leave right now.”  
  
“Please, Lu, just hear me out,” he says, and she can’t stand the self-righteous expression on his face. Right now she’s finding it hard to believe she ever thought she might have a real future with him. She glares at him, then rolls her eyes and shrugs, motioning for him to follow her inside.  
  
She’s not interested in hearing anything he has to say, but this is probably the quickest way to get this over with and never have to see him again. Besides, she doesn’t want all of her neighbors to listen in on this conversation.  
  
Once they’re inside, he reaches for her wrist and tries to pull her close and she recoils from his touch. He looks hurt, and she wants to yell at him, ask him what the hell he expected when he came here.  
  
“Are you gonna keep it?”  
  
She’s sitting as far away from him as she possibly can considering the width of the couch, her arms crossed in front of her chest.  
  
“Are you fucking insane? Of course I’m not gonna keep it.”  
  
He looks genuinely pained by her words, and she has absolutely zero interest in his opinion on any of this. She does not want to have a baby, and she definitely doesn’t want to have _his_ baby. He gets to have an opinion on this, of course, but the final decision is hers.  
  
“Lu, that’s a human life we’re talking about. I’m catholic and I—“ She can’t help it, she actually starts laughing loud enough to stop him in his tracks. It’s just too fucking funny to hear him preach about catholicism and human life considering the situation.  
  
“Save yourself the lies. Where the fuck was this whole upstanding Catholic boy bullshit when you were cheating on your wife?”  
  
He sighs, and yeah, he better feel at least a little guilty about all of this. She’s not done calling him out, though. She’s allowed.  
  
“You’re a lawyer. Do you seriously believe any of that pro-life nonsense?”  
  
It feels oddly satisfying to see him shake his head in defeat. Yeah, she didn’t think so; he seems a little too smart and worldly to believe a handful of cells have the right to be treated as anything more than that.  
  
“I’m definitely not keeping it, and you don’t get a say in this,” she tells him clearly. There’s no way he actually wants her to have this baby, right? He’s not that insane. Maybe he just felt morally obligated to act like he wants her to keep it — maybe he thought it’s what she wants to hear. (It’s not.) “Now say whatever you have to say and get the fuck out.”  
  
He runs a hand through his hair and scoots towards her a little. She glances at him warily, but as long as he doesn’t touch her, she’ll allow it.  
  
“Things with Nadia — that’s her name, uh, my wife’s name — they haven’t been good for a long time,” he says. “There’s a reason I don’t wear a ring anymore. We’ve been taking some time apart.”  
  
Well, at least there’s that. He still should’ve told her and he probably shouldn’t be sleeping with other people, but this is still better than any scenario she’s come up with in the past week. (There have been many.)  
  
“And you think that makes lying to me okay?”  
  
His hand falls to her thigh and she stares at it, wondering how she feels about this. She thinks she may be begrudgingly okay with this kind of touching, if only because she’s been longing for someone to comfort her all week — she still hasn’t told any of her friends about what’s going on, after swearing Rebeka to secrecy.  
  
“Look, this doesn’t justify any of my actions, but maybe it will… help you understand them, I don’t know,” he’s got that sincere look on his face again, the one that used to make her think he might actually have feelings for her. God, she needs to stop being naive when it comes to deciding where her loyalties lie. “We got married too young, in university. We were stupid teenagers playing house, and too afraid to talk about it, and then earlier this year we finally decided it wasn’t working.”  
  
She gets to ask follow up questions, right? She certainly thinks so. “Who made that call?”  
  
“It was mutual,” he tells her, then sighs. “No, it wasn’t, that’s a lie. She was the one who brought it up, but I felt the exact same way. I was just too afraid to end it. I’m not great with confrontation.”  
  
She scoffs. “You don’t say."  
  
He cracks a tiny smile, and she almost smiles back at him. She’s so fucking easy.  
  
“Wait, do you still live with her? Is that why you always sneak out on me like I’m some cheap hooker?”  
  
There’s that sigh again. He should really try other forms of nonverbal communication; the sighing is getting a little old. “I do. There’s no reason why I didn’t just tell her upfront that I was… seeing… you,” she rolls her eyes at his choice of words. “I guess maybe I didn’t want to upset her, but I promise, that has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”  
  
He really does have a flair for the dramatic. She sort of wonders if his little monologue was inspired by her favorite genre of Mexican telenovela — it certainly sounds like it. She has to admit, he’s pulling it off. Cheesy, over the top speeches sort of work for him.   
  
They’re quiet for a while, and she finds herself staring at his hand on her thigh, her fingers aching to reach out and touch him.  
  
Staying angry at him is exhausting, and she’s touch starved enough, she’s seriously considering to at least use him for sex before she tells him she never wants to see him again. Maybe she should do that — yeah, that sounds like a good idea.  
  
She turns towards him, then swiftly pulls herself up onto her knees and moves to straddle him, her hands going out to grab onto his neck. She leans in to kiss him, just briefly, and he looks needy and desperate and on the verge of tears when she pulls away.  
  
“This does not mean I forgive you,” she tells him, and he nods obediently, his eyes glazed over with a mix of lust and adoration. He better be ready to fucking worship her body. “You’ll have to work a little harder for that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the plot twist... I felt like messing with you! 
> 
> find me [on tumblr](http://cupcakeb.tumblr.com/)


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